Cursed Black
by Dimensionist
Summary: The chilling tale of the infamous hoax, fleshed out in detail.


A/N: Haven't seen this done anywhere, so I figured I'd give it a try. The story of the infamous pokemon hoax, Pokemon Black, told through the eyes of the protagonist.

I didn't mean for it to happen.

Really, I didn't.

When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a great trainer. A master - someone the world would know and respect. Someone who would _mean_ something, you know? People would talk about me on tv shows, and my name would be printed in newspapers - broad letters, front page, the whole shebang. I'd be the hottest shit this side of Kanto, the guy _everybody_ knew.

I'd _be_ somebody. Not the bitter son to a mother with a fake smile, a broken heart. Not the orphan to a father who came back in a body bag after he'd just gone fishing. Not the witless loser, mocked by the most popular kid in town. I'd be _me_. I'd be a hero, a celebrity.

And that - that's all that mattered to me, then. I would be the _best_. The best there _ever_ was. And _then -_ then, I'd _be_ somebody. Somebody who _mattered_. Somebody _respected_.

Heh. Kids can be such morons, huh?

It all really started when I was ten, the day all of us aspiring trainers from Pallet were to get our first pokemon. Which really only included me and White, since the others had gotten their pokemon a year ago.

Now, there's something interesting even about that. Normally, it took years of schooling before anyone could really become a trainer. There's a _reason_ any trainer of note in Kanto's old enough to be considered an adult, after all. But Oak? Nope. He was _Oak_. _The_ Professor Oak. The most respected and qualified pokemon researcher in Kanto, if not the world. He was the kind of man that I wanted to be, ignorant kid that I was.

He had power. And influence too, that never hurts. And he wanted things to be done a certain way, at least on his turf - and so it was done.

... The League? Ha! As if the League ever said no to _anything_ Oak asked of them. At least in this case, he gave a _reason_ for this deviation from the rules - pokedexes. Rather than trainers, we were pitched more as assistants in his research - field agents who would gather information about pokemon in the wild, far more efficiently and comprehensively than he himself could. And since you needed a badge and what it provided to in order to access certain regions ...

Loopholes. Oak was very good at that, if nothing else.

So. The Day. That moment when it all began.

You know, even now I don't know how to think of Oak. What he did to me was horrible, cruel, and _evil_. And he made it out like he was doing me a favor, something that made me so _happy_ and _proud_ at the time.

And yet, I know exactly why he did what he did. And I can't pretend that I wouldn't have done the same in his position. Or something like it, anyway.

What did he do? Well, he gave me an extra 'pokemon'. And I can still remember White bitching about it.

If I could get just one wish in my life, I'd- well, okay, I'd wish I'd never been stuck with that Arceus-damned ... _thing_. But if I had _another_ wish - you can bet your ass I'd wish to go back in time, _just so I can punch that assuming and judgmental prick in the face_.

On that day, that fateful, horrible day, Oak gave me and his grandson our first pokemon. And since he 'felt for my situation', he slipped me an extra 'pokemon' - to help my chances, you know?

Oak always was a smooth liar.

Of course, White saw it, and started to throw a tantrum about it. Didn't help, though - Oak got pissed, and laid into his own grandson about entitlement and why snot-nosed punks shouldn't have it. White had to slink away, tail tucked between his legs, and no new pokemon to show for it.

Didn't stop his fans from cheering for him, of course, and his little posse of friends bolstered his flagging ego up quick enough. You know, if there's one thing in the world that I find almost as unfair as me ending up with that _monster_, it's the fact that a guy with the name White Oak was the most popular kid in my hometown. I still don't get it, even now. It just blows my mind.

So, back to my journey. For the first time in my life, it looked like I'd caught a break. I'd ended up with two - count 'em, two, that's how _incredible _it was - pokemon, while White had ended up with one. I'd seen my childhood tormentor scolded by the man I idolized. The future was looking up.

Heck, I even smiled along with my mother when she put on one of her fake expressions for the watching neighbors. It didn't seem like too much of a chore, just then.

And then, I walked away. Out of Pallet.

... I wish I never had.

The pokemon I'd picked had been a Charmander. Lovely creature, all joy and energy. Loyal, too. And he stayed loyal, till the end - even when he probably shouldn't have. I called him Flazer - a little joke about fire and laser, and also because it sounded cool. Hey, I was a kid, sue me.

The one Oak gave me? Well, at the time, I didn't really know what it was. It had a pokedex entry, sure, but it seemed ... off, somehow. I couldn't recall hearing anything about a pokemon that fit it's description, and it had a _very_ memorable appearance.

In the end, I knew very little about it to go on. The only thing definitive about it was it's type, which was repeated in it's description as well.

So, I called it 'Ghost'. And, as it turned out, I couldn't have picked a better name.

At first, things worked out fine. By all indications, Ghost _sucked_ as a pokemon. He had crappy stats, only one ability, and was exceedingly inexperienced in combat, if the pokedex's analysis was anything to go by. Honestly, I was feeling a little gypped.

Flazer, on the other hand, more than proved his worth. I'd known, going into this, that picking a Charmander is basically choosing to play on hard mode for a video game. The nearest gyms had pokemon resistant if not immune to fire, and it would basically stay that way _right_ until my journey was halfway completed. Still, I'd known what Charmander could grow into, and how dangerous he could be against the bugs I'd typically face at this leg of my journey, so I'd stuck to my guns. And Flazer rewarded me for it.

He was a wonderful partner - quick to learn, strong, and pleasant to be around. In the beginning, he was all I'd needed, though I made sure to catch a few pokemon besides him, just in case. Even taught them a few things, and helped them to increase their power.

And throughout it all, Ghost's pokeball remained untouched. Maybe I'd known even then, and was just trying desperately to avoid it all.

Maybe. I'd like to think so, anyway.

The trouble really started in Viridian Forest, just before the entrance to Pewter.

I'd been facing a bug catcher, Ritchie something, who'd challenged me to a friendly match. This kind of thing happened all the time in Kanto, and probably in the other regions as well. It was a great way to test a pokemon's skills in battle, and to earn some money. In fact, it was practically the unofficial paycheck that came from being a trainer - more than part-time jobs and official missions, a trainer was expected to persist on the winnings he got from battles like these.

So. Ritchie. The battle was in the bag, really, or so I thought. Turns out the smug prick had a stage three pokemon - a Butterfree - that he'd gotten by constantly fighting somewhere outside Cerulean. That was WAY beyond my level, but a trainer doesn't back down from a challenge, and so I just miserably tossed my pokemon into the ring, knowing what would happen.

And just as I expected, they got beat the fuck up.

Not even Flazer managed to do anything - even with his type advantage, he needed to get an attack in to actually have it matter. That damnable Butterfree, however, was just way too quick. One Confusion attack, and Flazer was down.

So, there I was, down to just one pokemon. I don't like losing now, and I didn't like it then, so I tossed my last hope into the field with a flourish. Who knows, maybe I was trying to score points for style, even if I lost.

Ghost came out with a flash of light, the white light somehow making it's black, distorted form seem even creepier. The damn thing had been smiling it's ever-present smile even then, and I could feel it's giddy anticipation for battle. It turned towards Butterfree-

-and the bug froze up.

Back then, I just made what would have been the logical assumption - that Ghost's natural, passive ability was one that caused any opponent who it looked at to freeze up. A suped-up glare, perhaps, except inherent - kinda like a Pichu's ability to shock it's opponents into paralysis on touch, with no extra effort involved. It seemed to make sense. And since Butterfree seemed to have fallen prey to it, with victory no longer seeming impossible, I accepted it without a second thought.

Idiot.

Ritchie panicked, trying to rouse his pokemon, bring it back in the game. To the delight of the child I was, it didn't work. Finally seeing a chance to win the battle, I ordered Ghost to use Curse.

I've looked back on that day many times, and by now I'm sure of it: I didn't imagine it. I didn't imagine the widening smile on Ghost's face. I didn't imagine the low, haunting melody that seemed to accompany Ghost's every action. I didn't imagine the nail that appeared in front of Ghost, nor the impressions of human faces I could make out in the black miasma that surrounded it. I didn't imagine the mournful, desperate cry Butterfree made, that it _couldn't_ have made, paralyzed as it was.

And I _definitely_ didn't imagine it's eyes - those great, big compound eyes - looking at me, accusing me of my crime.

With a single attack, Butterfree fell, leaving my ears still ringing with what I then hoped were phantom tunes and imagined voices. Ritchie yelled out his Butterfree's name in dismay, but accepted the loss for what it was. I'd breathed a sigh of relief then, certain I'd imagined all the ominous portents that had accompanied Ghost's attack.

Again, I was an idiot back then.

I'd collected the money Ritchie owed me and had been heading out of the forest when it happened. Ritchie let out a plaintive, horrified cry, yelling his Butterfree's name. I turned around, and ...

Well, one look at Butterfree and I had no illusions about what had happened. Pokemon didn't just slump like it had, nor did a Butterfree's antennae ever droop to that extent.

Not a living Butterfree anyway.

I remember Ritchie crying, then turning his anger upon me. He came charging at me, fists swinging, driven into a rage at the death of what was likely a cherished friend.

It was no threat, of course. Ritchie was smaller than me in size, and he wasn't thinking straight.

Then again, the physical threat wasn't the problem.

See, the League has certain _rules_ that trainers have to follow. Death matches are a strict no-no - you don't kill an opposing trainer's pokemon. Period. Break this rule, and you'll find yourself in a pokeball of your own - only this one will be made of steel bars and people just waiting for you to drop the soap. I was too young to actually be sent into _that_ kind of prison, but I'd still be blacklisted.

And a blacklisted trainer can never fight in a gym battle, or participate in the pokemon league. It would mean the end - the end of my dreams, the end of my ambitions.

The end of who I wanted to be.

Ritchie would tell. I knew that, knew it so clearly it hurt. I couldn't let him.

I don't think I was even aware of what I was doing. That whole incident is murky to me, lost in a terrified haze. All I know is that I let Ghost out of his pokeball, and I ... and I ...

It wasn't me. I can tell you right now, and I'd swear it in front of Arceus himself - _it wasn't me_! I'd find out later what Ghost was truly capable of, what it _meant_ to have him as your pokemon_. _I _know_ that the one who ordered Ritchie's death _wasn't me_.

Of course, it wasn't enough to just leave him lying there on the road. There were no physical wounds on his body, meaning it would be suspicious to anyone who came across him on the road to Pewter.

Still, it wasn't like being a trainer was without any risks. It wasn't unheard of for trainers to die in their journey after all, especially in places filled with wild, poisonous pokemon like Viridian Forest. The trail existed for a reason, and anyone who didn't follow it ran the risk of being attacked by wild pokemon. However, the best pokemon could only be found in the depths of the forest, so most trainers braved it anyway. Not any of Oak's trainers, of course - we were too young, and Oak at least provided us with enough information that we wouldn't die, bastard that he was.

I needed Ritchie's death to look like an accident, so that there wouldn't be more than a cursory investigation about it, if anyone reported it at all. And so, I picked up his body and dragged it over to the edge of the inner forest. I smeared a bit of pollen on him, that I'd learnt Beedrills were attracted to, and walked away.

... Hm? What do I think happened to him? Well ... I try not to think about it. It's better that way.

All I know is, there were no reports about a dead body being found in the Forest matching Ritchie's description. And that was enough for me.

After that, I was more determined than ever to never use Ghost again. But that haunting melody still followed me, and I could _feel_ Ghost now, giddy in anticipation, awaiting another chance to kill. I held on to that determination, but my mind was fraying - first from the horror, and then from the sounds and feelings I heard and felt. I was irritable, and frustrated. The stress was getting to me.

I endured it all, though, without complaint. It seemed like punishment for doing what I had, and I felt it was all deserved. I naively expected that it would get better soon, that it had to.

I really was _such_ a fool.

Of course, my determination didn't last. I only managed till Mount Moon. Till Team Rocket.

Here's a little bit of trivia - Team Rocket was Kanto's equivalent to Team Magma, Team Aqua, Team Galaxy and all those other 'Team' organizations. A criminal organization run by a shadowy figure, it had eliminated all competition long ago, and maintained a stranglehold on Kanto's underworld. Where other regions had multiple teams and a near constant gang war, with effectively all of those gangs being local, Team Rocket alone ruled supreme in multiple regions. As a threat to the world, it didn't rate so high. As a criminal organization, meant for profiteering and conventional crime? There wasn't a single organization that could come close to matching it.

And they'd set their sights on Mount Moon for some reason. For the most part, I hid and watched, waiting for a chance to get away and out of Mount Moon and into Pewter. I was a rookie trainer, and I wasn't about to take chances. For the most part, it even worked.

And then one of the Rocket grunts caught sight of me, and it all went to hell.

He didn't bother with stealth, didn't even try to hide his presence. He just waltzed right up to me with his pokemon, cocksure as you please.

I tried to fight him off. Flazer was out first, then a Pidgeotto (Swirl) when he went down. A Rattata (Butch) went last, a desperate attempt that I knew wouldn't work. In the end, though, he was too strong for me.

When my Rattata fell, he started to gloat. He talked about how it was a pity I'd been there, that they couldn't leave any one to tell of their operation. Too bad, so sad, and all that rot.

In hindsight, it was just him messing with a kid. After all, they didn't know if I'd talked to anyone beforehand or not - if anyone would miss me and organize a search party or not. Besides, I hadn't seen anything incriminating, and they were noted criminals anyway. The worst I could do was give the descriptions of some of the Rockets, but a single psychic pokemon could have fixed that right up. It would have been the most efficient way, and Team Rocket was all about efficiency.

Back then, though, I knew nothing of that. I was just terrified out of my mind, off-balance due to stress and guilt, and looking to vent.

Ghost came out.

Later, when the Rocket was lying face-down in the cold, hard earth, I thought about my situation. I thought about the Rockets between me and the entrance, and the knowledge that, if they were stealthy, they_could_ take me out before I'd get a chance to defend myself.

I could have tried to hide. I could have tried to slip past them. But the song in my head was rising to a fever pitch, Ghost's feelings were clouding my mind, and I was stressed and unhappy, and thought I might die.

That day, I was the only one who walked out of Mount Moon.

Just me.

After that, the music that had accompanied me for some time quieted down. I didn't sense Ghost anymore, didn't feel his feelings warping my own mind. Everything ... seemed to be alright. The nightmare seemed to be over.

I didn't know how it happened. I didn't know _why_ it happened. But I was thankful for it all the same.

I thought this was a chance for me. A chance to put everything that had happened behind me, to move on and fulfill my dreams. I felt guilty, but I knew it wouldn't hold me for long. I was a bit of a bastard that way, or maybe it was just a natural part of being a ten year old. I didn't know then, don't know now.

Maybe what had happened would stay buried. Maybe Ghost was satisfied, maybe it didn't need or want any more deaths.

And maybe Swinubs would fly.

For the most part, though, things ... became almost normal. Ghost remained in his pokeball, dormant yet ominous. Flazer and the rest of my pokemon grew under my training, growing stronger and stronger. A Charmeleon, a Pidgeot, a Raticate, and several new pokemon: Raichu, Wartortle, Ivysaur, Venomoth, Pinsir, Scyther, Graveler, Golbat, and many more. I'd even caught a Magikarp and coaxed it into a Gyarados - considering how damn devastating those water snakes could be, I'd definitely shot up in terms of trainer ability.

I got through Cerulean without a problem, even managed to get myself a ticket to the Yawa Sisters' Mermaid Show. To this day, I remember it fondly for how incredibly _bad_ it was. They'd turned what should have been a boring, if artistic show into a slapstick comedy, with all the sisters getting into fights and being unprofessional in mermaid costumes.

Or maybe that was just for the show I went to.

Well, either way, things went in the same vein for some time. Train pokemon, fight battles, earn money - that's what occupied most of my days. I took a few side trips to fill up the pokedex Oak gave all us Pallet trainers, so as to ensure he wouldn't revoke my license, but otherwise it was all fairly routine.

Ah, Oak. I remember feeling so betrayed when I first realized what Ghost was, what he did. He'd handed Ghost to me because he'd felt things would be hard for me, he'd said. Instead, keeping Ghost in check was the greatest challenge I faced in my entire journey.

I hated him then. Hated him more than I'd ever hated anything else. It took a long time for that hate to simmer down, for it to fade into something manageable.

I had no doubt that if I'd ever seen Oak during that time, I'd have sicced Ghost on him without a second thought.

In any case, things were fine for a while. I got the Pewter city badge, and managed to resist unleashing Ghost on White and Surge - a temptation that terrified me when it surfaced, because it meant I wasn't out of Ghost's influence yet. Still, it was controllable, so I was willing to ignore it for the time being.

Got the Cerulean badge, the Vermillion Badge, the Celadon badge without a problem. I was tempted, once, when I was fighting those thugs on the SS Anne, but I was determined not to give in again. For the most part, things were smooth sailing.

And then Sylph happened, and it all went to hell.

A/N: Originally, I was going to do it in a single sitting, but it got too long. So, I'll post the first snippet here, then continue later. This is supposed to be a one-shot, but it'll probably end at over 10k+ words, so ...


End file.
